


An Unexpected Reunion

by slytherinwholocker



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Past Torture, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Reunions, Sherlock Minibang, can be gen or johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinwholocker/pseuds/slytherinwholocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Sherlock Minibang.</p>
<p>Two years after Sherlock jumped, he's coming back. But he's not quite the same man as he was before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Sherlock Minibang. I did the writing, while the wonderful its-for-jam-sherlock did the amazing art. I hope it's up to standard!

Sherlock was….a bit of a mess, to say the least. He knew that, he knew it like he knew that people made more eye contact when lying, or like how John took no sugar in his tea. It wasn’t something he wanted to know, but it was an inevitable, harsh truth.

He’d spent two years taking down Moriarty’s web. He hadn’t thought it would take that long. He’d thought it would be a few months, and he’d be back at Baker Street for supper. Of course, when one was taking down a criminal empire of mass proportions, one learned that the people in that empire were not stupid.

He’d underestimated them. Underestimated Moriarty. He’d thought that he’d be able to just sneak up behind and slit their throat, or shoot them. He hadn’t planned on them being good at their jobs. He hadn’t planned on being noticed, on being taken. 

But of course, that was what had happened. It had been nearly two months before Mycroft had been able to get him out, and it had taken even longer for him to heal. His left Achilles tendon had been cut, resulting in a lasting limp to rival John’s, although his own was entirely real. He was deaf in one ear, had masses of scar tissue all over. The right side of his face had been badly burned, resulting in a rather disfigured look. He was missing three fingers.

The mental part of it all was nearly worse. He knew he had PTSD, he had nightmares every night, woke up screaming. He couldn’t stand to be in the dark, or without sight. He wouldn’t let anybody touch him, and he had a terrible fear of needles.

He knew that he wasn’t the same man as he had been before he jumped, in many ways. He wasn’t the man John had fallen in love with. But maybe, if he was lucky, the man would find some way to love him again. Which was what led him to Baker Street, knocking on the door with his better hand and waiting anxiously for John to open it.

John, for his part, was also a bit of a mess. He told himself he’d moved on, but he hadn’t. He drank too much, he couldn’t keep a girlfriend, he’d lost his job. It was only Mycroft’s insistence of paying for the rent that kept him able to live there. He did some odd jobs on the side, cases. He wasn’t as good as Sherlock had been, of course, but he had picked up a few things. 

So when he opened the door to see the consulting detective himself, his first thought was that he was hallucinating. His second thought was that he couldn’t be, because his mind wouldn’t make Sherlock look so…hurt. His third thought was pure rage. Obviously Sherlock wasn’t really dead. Which meant the man had faked it.

Sherlock watched these emotions play out over John’s face, and when he saw the anger, he tensed slightly and turned his head to the side, flinching. He couldn’t help it. He’d seen that face before, on his captors, and it had never ended well for him. A punch was hardly the worst thing he’d been through, though. He’d be fine. John would forgive him after he let his anger out.

John had clenched his fist when he noticed Sherlock’s flinch, his face. The man was terrified. He’d never seen such a broken look before, and he’d seen a lot of broken looks. His hand clenched tighter for a moment before relaxing, and he let out a slow breath. Whatever had happened to Sherlock, it was bad. He couldn’t cause the man any more pain, not when it was obvious that he’d been through so much already. He knew there’d be an explanation. There’d be tears, and anger, and maybe a few kisses. They’d get through it, though. Together. He opened the door a bit wider and stepped back.

“Get in here, you git.”

 


End file.
